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As my old readers know, I suffer(ed) from douchebag syndrome. I am happy to report that the last douchebag I dated actually cured me. Yep. Against all odds, my last douchebag made me so sick that I stumbled out of the man woods into the clearing.

The Man Woods: Beautifully enticing but too easy to get lost upon entering. Bring your moral compass.

Unfortunately, though I am frolicking in the “I need a real man” meadow, I am still near the tree line. What this means is that friends of the douchebag are compelled by my singleness and past gullibility. So they lurk. One in particular was shoved up my ass for about a week. Hm. According to this analogy then, I basically had a man stick up my ass….and not the kind Jody Neil Ruth likes to implant.

Like all douchebags, he is a narcissist (not Jody……..the dude that inspired this post). He’s probably antisocial. Definitely manipulative. And a total Luser. I decided that since I am no longer attracted to this species of man that I would just use him for a bit……you know, as like revenge against his entire rotting douchebag race. My experiment failed. You have to be a liar to be a user and no matter how hard I try, lying JUST isn’t in me.

Long story short, I could not stand Mr. I don’t have a real job but expect everyone to work around my schedule and deal with my excessive tardiness. Last night he asked if he could come over after basically standing me up five days in a row. I said yes. What can I say? I wanted free vodka. He asked at 7. 10 came around and I texted him that I was going to sleep and not to come over and to have a good night. 5 MINUTES LATER he was at my door. RUDE. I told him about himself and shut the door. Of course he turned it around and told me via text that I am a “bug out” and to lose his number.

WOW. Not only did he disregard my wishes but THEN he tried to steal the texty ending. I replied by telling him what he did wrong and that I could NEVER BE with someone like HIM. Bleck. His response? He texted today while I was at school and said “sorry about LASTNITE.” And that is when it struck me: I have been student teaching in a grade 2 classroom and being so close to the end of the year, my mentor is prepping the kids for grade 3 which is when they take their first big state standardized test. The test answers are scored on a scale of 1-4, 4 being the best answer. Often, while completing a test or assignment, a student will write a general sort of generic answer so we wield the red ink and tell them to clarify or be more specific.

I am neck deep in teacher mode so as soon as I read his text I wondered right away what he was sorry about. I replied that “sorry is just a word. What part of last night are you referring to?” He answered “all of it” 3 hours later. so here it is, ladies and gentlemen:

I am the standardized test. All men must take my test to see if they correlate with MY standards.

There are word problems, short answer, and multiple choice questions on the test. There are also reading comprehension questions and OBVIOUSLY he is failing to READ ME.

Let’s see how well he fairs with the other types of questions. Teacher prompt: “Students, you all know what a 4 answer looks like. I NEED a 4 answer.”

MULTIPLE CHOICE:

When you said you were sorry were you

A. Sorry that you ignored me and did what you wanted

B. Sorry that you got angry at me for your mistake

C. Sorry that you called me an insulting name

Answer C

My Response: If all answers seem correct and there is not an option to choose “all of the above” you must pick the BEST answer. The best answer here was A because it is the worst and first action to be sorry for. Answers B and C could not have happened if A had never happened.

This answer, then is NOT a 4 answer. It is a 1 answer.

WORD PROBLEM:

If a douchebag stands you up 5 days in a row and should have said sorry every day but only says he is sorry on the last day, how many more times should he have said sorry?

ANSWER: 4

This is a 2 answer because you did not show your work. I need to see your work so I know you are not just guessing.

KIND OF LIKE HOW ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER THAN WORDS. SAYING THE WORD SORRY IS A 2 ANSWER. SHOWING YOUR APOLOGY BY NOT REPEATING THE SAME ACTION (OR BY SENDING FLOWERS OR A BOUQUET OF CIGARETTES) IS SHOWING YOUR WORK AND THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN A 4 ANSWER. YOU ALSO DIDNT LABEL. I REQUIRE LABELS AND HAVE NOW LABELED YOU A DOUCHEBAG.

SHORT ANWSER:

If you repeatedly stand a girl up and she tells you not to come over but you ignore her and come over anyway then get mad and call her names when she slams the door in your face, describe what you should do next.

I would say sorry about last nite

This is NOT a 4 answer. This is a 1 answer. I took 1 point off because I need more detail. What are you sorry about and what actions would you do to show that you are sorry?

I took 1 point off because you used your inventive spelling for a word that was in our word bank.

I took another point off for no punctuation. Punctuation leads me to your punctuality problem: this is a timed test meaning I don’t have TIME to wait around for you OR for your apology and non-actions. Period.

It's not a cliche for nothin'

“You have failed this standardized test and put me in a miserable state. I am not a manipulative and should not be used as such. If you want to know your score on this test, your score is that YOU DIDN’T. You are not in the clear(ing). You will be retained to the woods.”

I don’t know how this blog has ended up somehow being all about my mental health illness. Hopefully in the future I will have something more riveting to write about. Summing up, My ex was a douche, I’ve been depressed forever but my ex made me sicker so I went to a place for three years. Like I mean, I didn’t like, go to an insitiution. I didn’t go AWAY to a place (if only….) I just you know, got therapy and shit. I loved my shrink and my therapist. Then it got taken over by some freaks and all the good people quit. SO I had to get my meds from my wack-o 90 thousand year old primary care physician while my name sat on a waiting list. His idea of therapy was to ask me the same questions every week because he had old man memory loss: do you go to church? When do you start your student teaching? Do you think you need your clonazepam?

The wait is over and I just met my new psychiatrist today. I don’t like him. And it’s not because he’s an Indian. But for the visual, picture an older thin Indian man, glasses, very serious. That’s the fucking problem. The intake interview took TWO HOURS. TWO. AND I had both boys with me (they were angels the entire time but as I was leaving he said he wants me to come by myself from now on). I already feel shitty talking to a stranger about my problems and when he is a stuffy non-smiler it is a million times worse. So I cried for the whole two hours and answered his questions through snot and tears. Just all the usual shit: when was the last time you felt really good for a few months at a time? Have you ever been hospitalized? Do you experience periods of excessive happiness (LOL).

And then he asked me what I want. What the fuck does he mean what the fuck do I want? I put my own name on the waiting list, I told him I received services through the other place religiously for three years. I am dedicated to trying to make my brain healthier so………ummmmmmmmmm……….I want my fucking meds?

I like my new therapist but I need the dr to give me my medicine which doesnt really fucking help anyway. He acted like I was trying to get some super good opiates or something. Then he went on some rant about how I do not have to follow his RECOMMENDATIONS. It is my choice whether I take his RECOMMENDATIONS. But if I don’t I can’t receive services. So doesn’t that mean I DO have to follow his RECOMMENDATIONS? And OF COURSE he wants to change my medicine. I told him he needs to wait until the end of May when my student teaching is over because I can’t be a lab rat or guinnea pig until then.

That offended him. He said it implies that he is just going to throw medicine at me and see if it makes me feel better. Well, ISN’T THAT WHAT HE IS GOING TO DO?

I told him prozac was really the only “anitdepressant” I had ever been on that I felt helped. But after a year or two it gave me that nasty “unable to have an orgasm” side effect so my doctor switched me. He said I need to weigh the side effects against the benefits and sometimes I need to decide what is more important.

So then I felt like the town whore.

Basically I am a mental wreck. My brain is like a nasty traffic accident. And that dude made me feel worse.

So hopefully my name will come up on the OTHER waiting list (if it didn’t already: I have no memory anymore and can’t remember if they called me and I told them I was already with a place or not…)

I know what my problem is: loneliness. I want a partner, a support, a man. It’s funny how I’ve only had a couple serious relationships in life and I am far far far from the type of chick that goes straight from one dude to the next. One would think that, due to my intense desire for a working marriage, that I would have been one of those serial monogamists that has not been without a relationship since middle school. But I am quite the opposite. I didn’t even realize how much more content and whole I felt with a man until my broken marriage. That’s when I realized: all I really want in life is to be a good woman who loves my family and has a good man to love me back.

Unfortunately for me, a man doesn’t come in a pill. And I’m fat right now so I seem to only attract men that prey on fat women because we usually have low self esteem and are more likely to agree to get stepped on. Sad but true. Hot body girls get better men. Statistically speaking. And I’m not being a hater. I love skinny bitches. I wish I was one.

If I can just find a hobby that replaces the need for male companionship.. reading, writing, and embroidery have not worked. And alcohol just makes me fatter and………..is imbibing considered a hobby? All I know is that I am on the brink of a really dark mental hole and I have so much pressure on me right now that if I make it through student teaching it will truly truly be a miracle. If I can’t look at myself in the mirror when it’s over….well, if I complete it, anyway……………If I can’t look in the mirror and tell myself that I truly am an amazing woman and the strongest bitch I have ever met in my LIFE for NOT being committed, for NOT giving up completely and turning into a raging drug addict crack head street walker, then all hope for self-improvement is lost.

All I have left is prayer at this point because nothing at all is going right and I am 10000000% overwhelmed to the 10000000000000000th degree. NO I’m not suicidal, my dear readers. Just ready to snap out of reality and turn into one of those people that sits in a rocker and tries to peel myself because I think I’m an orange.

Recently a blog peep suggested drooling as an alternative to meditiation and it SOUNDS GOOD TO ME.

This position just doesn't look comfortable.

Unless you count the extended sessions on my couch sitting Indian style and obsessing on one specific topic, I am just not a meditator. I mean, I’m not clearing my mind per say, but I am clearing it of all thoughts but ONE…. like one day it might be my bills, other (lots of) days I ruminate on my incredibly sucky taste in men and the loneliness that engorges my so-called life. By the way, “Indian style” is politically incorrect now. My son’s preschool refers to it as “criss cross” or to make it more fun, it’s “criss cross apple sauce.”

My ferociously missed ex-therapist used to revisit the idea of meditation every few months. Me being the high strung lunatic that I am much of the time, he rationalized that deep breathing and clearing my mind and all that shit would help me. I tried the first time he suggested it. After that my response to his suggestion to try again was, “ehhh” accompanied by a brisk shoo-it-away-like-a-fruit-fly hand motion.

Meditation does not work for me because it is TOO MUCH WORK. I simply CANNOT clear my mind (without the use of drugs, as wag the dad mentioned, or reality tv which. sort of is the new designer drug, no?) The mental tension that I inflict on my brain when I try and FAIL to think of NOTHING is not only tiring in the keep me awake kinda way, but it annoys the shit out of me AND makes me feel like a useless loser when I fail. I like challenges but not ones that I can NEVER EVER EVER EVEN IMPROVE UPON. I’ve tried the fucking breathing and yes: deep breathing is nice. It fills my lungs but does not erase my thoughts.

I finally thought of something that seemed to relax me and I described it to my therapist and he informed me that it is already in practice and is called GUIDED IMAGERY: because I can’t shut my thoughts off but if I replace them with other thoughts, I’m good. Guided imagery is kind of like reading but not having to read. It’s like escaping. The problem is finding a good voice and story. I am picky. It has to be a woman voice for some odd reason, and I need to be at the beach or something. I think a man’s voice would be cool if they didn’t all sound like 80 year old grandpas.

There are a variety of guided imagery styles and of course you can sample a trillion of them on youtube. In fact, when I remember to do the damn thing, I can never find a good one so I spend so much time finding one on youtube that I end up needing stress relief just from the agony of the search. Moving along, let me bullet myself:

I do not like the guided imagery that tells you to tighten and relax your muscles. I know how to do that. Yoga made me do it. I don’t need instructions.

I cannot tolerate the “imagine you are floating on a cloud” bullshit. My guided imagery needs to be real. I don’t read science fiction so I don’t want to imagine it either.

Inspirational and/or contemplative shit pisses me off too. I’m not trying to think harder about the inner workings of my life and times. And if I want to be inspired I will watch the Real Housewives of Orange County and get inspired to secure a good paying job so I can afford the botox and the puffed out lips.

MY guided imagery needs to be realistic escapism. That voice better be leading me on a relaxing walk along the beach with the sound of the ocean waves crashing and some salty sea air wafting up my nose while the sun beats down on my bronzed skin, soaking me in a bath of moist warmth. Simmer down guys, I know that sounded a mite sexual 😉

My therapist suggested that I implement my writing skills and draft up my own image, record them and listen to myself. But who likes the way they sound on a recording? Noone. And I don’t want to be writing my own escape because I will be critiquing it instead of falling into a hazy dreamworld where bills don’t exist, where men don’t talk because if they don’t talk they can’t lie, and where everyone is gorgeous and happy.

I could NOT find a good youtube sample for my readers and I didn’t feel like doing an hour long search so sorry about it. If you find one that suits my fancy, share away. Or better yet, fellow bloggers, perhaps each of you should write me up your own narrative and record it for me so I have a compilation of guided imagery to either calgon me away or medicate me with laughter. 🙂

p.s. Said therapist told me that STUDIES HAVE SHOWN that watching t.v. uses less areas in the brain than sleeping. So it’s official. Watching t.v. is actually mind numbingly therapeutic. Who doesn’t want to meditate on Roseanne? talk about GUIDED IMAGERY. I can trace each of my major bouts of double depression by the t.v. I drowned myself with. I watched a month long marathon of America’s Next Top Model when my ex husband picked up the needle and his first cousin’s wife. When I dumped my last loser boyfriend a year or so ago I watched 8 seasons of Buffy the vampire slayer on youtube, each in 4 sections and with backward images, and in about two weeks. I can’t watch the following sitcoms anymore because now that I associate them with my “moments” they are no longer funny: Roseanne, That 70’s Show, and …….wow I know there’s another one but I seemed to have blocked it completely out.

That is what I said to my new therapist when she diagnosed me with dysthymia rather than major depressive disorder. I’m not the mayo clinic so I will just sum up by saying Dysthymia is a chronic depression as opposed to major depression which I guess is short lived. The ugly word is Greek and means ill tempered or some shit which explains my innate glass-is-half-empty-and-has-a-dangerous-chip attitude.

I must say, though anti-depressants are NOT a cure for me, prozac was nice. Until it gave me a serious case of Anorgasmia. Yeah. I'll just let you google that one if you can't figure it out by the name 😉 Let's just say, I'm not a nun and it wasn't cool...

A prozac nation we are, but I was definitely born sad. I was doomed from conception if you check out my gene pool and Dysthymia does have hereditary roots, so……here I am: a girl with EVERY SYMPTOM. My inability to enjoy things that a “normal” person deems positive is one of the annoying qualities of this disease/disorder/plague. Wait: is QUALITY the right word to use when describing a dreadful symptom? ANYWAY:

Here it is summed up:

That would be me in a nutshell. Or flowchart.

I am a TERRIBLE decision maker and my lack of energy and ability to sleep till I’m dead make me very gloomy. Kinda like this lovable fella:

I always liked him. Now I know why.

Eeyore got me thinking: I believe there are a few other characters in cartoon land that have an undiagnosed case of dysthymia. Snuffleupagus is a puppet (or muppet….what the hell is the difference? Jim Henson??) but I’m pretty sure the dude’s depressed. It might be due to vision impairment caused by those enormous eyelashes, but regardless, he seems pretty down…

Holy SHIT! Look at those things!!

The classic case though, the most obvious is Charlie Brown. And he’s got it bad.

Classic over-analyzer just like me...

He HAS to be desperate to continue seeking help from this crackpot:

Sigh.

Oh My God: We even WRITE the same, Charlie and I:

look at that: writing in text language well before his time.

Speaking of Charlie’s dysfunctional relationship with Lucy, it is glaringly clear that we share codependancy issues as well. Why else would he KEEP letting her rip that ball from beneath his foot?!?

Do not do it, Charles. STEP AWAY FROM THE BALL!

I know, I know, this post is supposed to be about depression and here I am delving into another of my ISSUES but here’s a good sum up of co-dependancy:

Lucy is OBVIOUSLY the “punishment and other attempt to control” partner and Charlie is the “Rescues & tries to fix, bail out, care-take” partner…

Really, Charlie? REALLY?? Sigh. It's a vicious circle/triangle...

Well then, there you have it: my new label: Dysthymia. Who knew? Since it often occurs pre-birth or in childhood at least those of us with the damn thing had some friggin…..role models growing up. Wait: is ROLE MODEL the right term to choose for depressed cartoon/p(m)uppets? Maybe SUPPORTERS is a better word. I don’t know. All I do know is this:

1. Eeyore needs to seek medical attention first because getting the tack out of his ass might be all he needs to cure his depression.

2. Snuffleupagus DEFINITELY needs an eyelash curler and some heavy duty mascara, but that’s it: trimming those puppies would be a sin.

3. Charlie Brown needs to find a new therapist, give up football, STOP chasing the little redheaded girl because she is JUST NOT THAT INTO HIM, and he needs to find new ways to be hopeful.

As do I. Hence more therapy.

And 4. I need one of these:

Yes. One of these would make me a bit less depressed because my tired, energyless, two baby totin’ momnesia-havin’ ass would not have to walk as far and would ALSO not keep losing my vehicle. 🙂

I wonder if I’m the only person that has noted mental illnesses in cartoon characters…. <–that was the “LEAVE ME A COMMENT” cue/hint (qwuint?)